


Cake or Death

by Brumeier



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Allergies, Anaphylaxis, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Seizures, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 00:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: It was just a piece of cake, but for Rodney it was far more dangerous.





	Cake or Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nagi_schwarz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/gifts).

> Written for H/C Bingo: allergic reaction

“You must consume it,” the village elder said, disapproval etched clearly on his wrinkled, wizened face.

“Cake or death,” John murmured for Rodney’s ears only.

Rodney, who never learned how to use his inside voice, replied loud enough for everyone to hear. “Spare me the infantile humor, Colonel. You know I can’t eat that thing.”

‘That thing’ was a ceremonial cake that seemed as sacred to these people as Communion wafers were to Catholics. Normally Rodney jumped at the chance to have sweets, but this time he wasn’t just being obstinate. He really couldn’t eat it.

The Pegasus Galaxy had no overtly citrus fruits – no oranges or lemons or limes, or their equivalents. But it did have a type of grain the grew in a certain region that had the same effect on Rodney’s body as a glass of orange juice. The purplish hue to the cake gave it away.

“Our teammate has severe sensitivities to certain foods,” Teyla tried to explain. “If he partakes of your cake, he will become deathly ill.”

“The rest of us will eat it,” Ronon said. “Looks good.”

Rodney looked surprised, as he always did when someone backed him up or showed concern for his health and well-being. John had complicated feelings about that.

“You must _all_ consume this offering or be marked as an enemy of our people.”

John straightened up and subtly adjusted his grip on the P90. He noticed Ronon casually running his thumb over his pulse pistol, possibly changing the setting on it. He didn’t like where things were heading, and it would be a shame if the situation went south over a stupid fucking cake. 

“We have no wish to be your enemy,” Teyla said placatingly. “Nor do we wish harm on Dr. McKay. There must be a way for him to honor your people while not eating the cake.”

Though every word she said was deferential, Teyla had recognized the danger as well. She assumed a slightly more defensive stance without seeming to move at all.

“Maybe we should go,” John suggested.

Teyla nodded. “Perhaps that would be for the best.”

It was a sound plan, but by then the whole village had turned up and made a pretty effective wall around John’s team. They had no weapons as far as he could tell, but if they attacked as a mob they wouldn’t need any, especially in such close proximity.

John took one sliding step closer to Rodney.

“Will you not let us leave peacefully?” Teyla asked.

“Your refusal to comply with our sacred ritual is an act of hostility. If you will not consume the offering, you will be marked before we can allow you to pass back through the Ring of the Ancestors.”

“Marked? Marked how?” Rodney asked, his voice a little too high.

The elder gestured at someone, and the crowd shifted to allow them to pass to the middle. It was a young woman, her appearance drawing a noise of distress from Rodney. She’d been branded, from her cheekbone to her chin on the left side of her face, an intricate pattern of swirls and circles. She must’ve been in agony when they did it to her.

Ronon pulled his pistol, John unclipped the P90, and Teyla produced the telescoping Bantos rods that Miko had fashioned for her as part of her off-world equipment. John knew they’d fight their way out of there, or die trying, before they let anyone shove a hot brand in their faces. 

“I’ll do it,” Rodney said. “I’ll eat the cake.”

“McKay!”

“No. It’s okay. I’ve got my epi pen.”

They all had an epi pen tucked into their tac vests, but that wasn’t the point. John would never let Rodney put himself in danger that way. What if the epi pen didn’t work? What if they couldn’t get back to Atlantis fast enough? John had read up on anaphylaxis when he realized Rodney wasn’t being a hypochondriac about it, like he had the tendency to be with other things. He knew sometimes there were secondary reactions.

“We cannot ask that of you,” Teyla said. 

“You will all take part in the ritual,” the elder said smugly. “Tomil, if you please.”

A man nearly as old as the elder came forward and mumbled some words over the cake before cutting it into four equal pieces.

“You’re not doing this, McKay,” John said again. “I can get us out of here.”

“No-one needs to die over a slice of cake, Colonel, or risk getting disfigured,” Rodney replied, lifting his chin like he always did when he was ready for an argument. “It’s not cake or death, not really.”

He pulled out his epi pen and primed it, and the stubborn set to his jaw made John both proud and terrified. 

“You do not have to do this,” Teyla said.

“Yes. I do.”

She pulled him into the Athosian greeting, which was both hello and goodbye, and John wanted to push them apart because it _wasn’t_ goodbye, he’d make sure of that. 

Tomil passed out the cake, which thankfully hadn’t been very big to start with and had been reduced to a piece that would only take two big bites to finish. John had to fight the urge to knock it out of Rodney’s hand.

Ronon ate his piece first, shoving the whole thing in his mouth at once. Teyla followed, eating more daintily. John just stared at his piece, the little slice of purple cake with colorful seeds dotting the top like sprinkles that seemed so innocuous.

“Eat the damn thing already,” Rodney snapped. “Then I can eat mine and we can all get the hell out of here.”

Under other circumstances, John would’ve enjoyed the cake. It was moist and flavorful, and the seed sprinkles were very sweet. But he just swallowed it down, coughing a little from the crumbs, and patted the pocket of his tac vest holding the epi pen.

“Here goes nothing,” Rodney said. He closed his eyes and modeled Ronon’s technique of barely chewing the cake before swallowing it, like a snake with a mouse.

John found himself holding his breath, waiting for the reaction to happen, but minutes ticked by and Rodney was still upright and breathing. The assembled crowd cheered.

The elder continued to look supercilious. “Now you understand. No harm can come of the ritual when your heart is pure. You are welcome to stay.”

“I don’t think so,” John said.

Teyla thanked him for his hospitality and promised a future visit in order to see if there was any reason for Atlantis to have a trade agreement with the elder’s people. John would rather have punched the guy in his stupid, smug face.

The villagers parted to let them through, and John sent Ronon ahead to make sure the path back to the Gate was clear. He took the rear position, just in case the elder changed his mind and projectiles started heading their way.

They made it past the first bend in the path, putting the village out of sight, when Rodney dropped to his knees, gasping and choking for air. John fumbled in his tac vest, but Rodney was already stabbing his epi pen into his thigh.

“His face is swelling,” Teyla said, sounding dismayed. 

“Come on, McKay. This is supposed to work.”

Or was it? A little voice in the back of John’s mind reminded him that Rodney had only been exposed to the purple grain once before, and that had been in the City with the infirmary close at hand. He’d had much more of it this time and maybe the epi pen wouldn’t be effective.

Rodney looked too pale, even with the swelling, but his breathing eased.

“Can we go home now?” he asked, words slurring. 

“What’s the hold up?” Ronon asked, coming back down the path.

“Something’s wrong.” There was a bubble of panic sitting in John’s chest. “I think maybe he’s having a reaction to the epi pen.”

“I thought that was supposed to fix things.”

“It is. McKay, can you walk?”

Rodney nodded, but when he tried to get up, he vomited all over himself. “Don’ feel so good.”

“Should we give him another shot?” Teyla asked.

“It’s too soon. Ronon?”

“Got it.”

Heedless of the vomit, Ronon lifted Rodney into a fireman’s carry and took off for the Gate, Teyla and John almost running to keep up with his long strides. The Gate was in sight when they had to stop again because Rodney was having a seizure. Teyla ran ahead to dial Atlantis while John and Ronon did their best to make sure Rodney didn’t hurt himself as his body convulsed.

“This is what happens when he eats lemons?” Ronon asked, scowling.

“I don’t think so. Fuck!”

The seizure was over fairly quickly, but Rodney’s breathing still seemed impeded and his pulse was way too fast.

John was barely aware of the Gate engaging, but he sure as hell noticed when it shut back down. 

“Teyla! What’s going on?”

“Dr. Beckett does not want us to move Rodney. He is coming through with a team.”

“I’ll give him this.” Ronon produced a little bit of the purple cake, now mostly reduced to crumbs. John hadn’t noticed him palming any of it at the time. “Maybe he can do that thing where he tests it.”

“That was very good thinking,” Teyla said approvingly.

Moments later the Gate re-engaged and a ‘jumper came through, with Beckett and his nurses and a couple Marines for good measure. They quickly loaded Rodney up on a back board, and Beckett gratefully accepted Ronon’s cake crumbs for testing.

“That’s a good lad. Are any of the rest of you feeling sick?”

“Just McKay,” John said. 

He tightened his grip on the P90 to hide the shaking in his hands; he didn’t need anyone to know how scared he was for Rodney. He rode up front with Teyla, Ronon, and Lorne on the quick ride back, so that Beckett and his team had plenty of room in case Rodney had another seizure. Or worse.

John didn’t think he’d ever be able to eat cake again.

*o*o*o*

“Hey,” John said, leaning in the open doorway of Rodney’s lab. “I thought you were supposed to be on bed rest.”

Rodney waved him off without turning from his computer. “Very busy, Colonel.”

That was probably true, but there was a very visible line of tension in Rodney’s shoulders that John didn’t like. He stepped all the way in and let the door swish shut behind him.

Rodney sighed. “Go away.”

“Nope.”

John moved Rodney’s coffee cup out of the way before boosting himself up to sit on the lab table, legs swinging. Rodney glared at him, but John could see the misery underneath the show of anger. Had one of his medical tests come back negative? Had there been some sort of permanent damage done from the seizure?

“Talk to me, McKay. What did Beckett say?”

Rodney looked down at his hands. “I’m fine. There was something else in the cake, besides the purple stuff. It interacted with the epinephrine.”

“Okay. Well, I’m glad it wasn’t a reaction to the epi pen. I wouldn’t want –”

“You need to take me off the team,” Rodney said abruptly, derailing John’s entire train of thought. “I mean it, Colonel.”

“Why would I do that?” John tried to imagine going offworld without Rodney. No, he needed to stay. They needed his scientific expertise, and John needed…well, that didn’t matter.

Rodney gave him a look of disbelief. “I’m a liability! You could’ve been branded because of me, or worse. I can recommend someone else from my department.”

“I don’t want anyone else. I need the best on my team, and that’s you.”

Rodney somehow managed to look both pleased and frustrated at the same time. He had a very expressive face, which is why John liked winding him up from time to time. It was good entertainment.

“Besides,” John continued, “what are the chances of encountering another cake or death situation, even out here?”

“I’m the weakest one on the team and you know it,” Rodney countered.

“We all have our weaknesses, McKay.”

“Oh, really? What’s yours? An overabundance of charm and manly good looks?”

John chose to accept the compliment and ignore the sarcasm. “I don’t like to tell people this, but…I can’t read.”

Rodney stared at him for a long moment, and then his lips twitched up into something that was almost a grin. “You’re an idiot.”

“So are you if you think a little case of anaphylaxis is enough for me to boot you off the team."

Rodney shook his head and rolled his eyes, but the tension was finally out of his shoulders. John considered that a job well done.

“Seriously, though. What’s _your_ weakness?”

John warred with himself for a minute. Truth or lie? Exposure or deflection? He thought about what Rodney had done, how brave he’d been. He deserved John’s honesty, at the very least. 

“My weakness?” John hopped off the table and leaned over Rodney, his arms braced on the chair arms. “You.”

He pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Rodney’s lips, and then hightailed it out of the lab, Rodney sputtering incoherently behind him.

John knew Rodney would come and find him once he’d had a chance to process things and decide what he –

“Was that a joke?”

Well, that was quicker than John expected. He tried not to let any of the terror he was feeling show on his face as he turned and faced Rodney. 

“No.”

“Prank?”

“No.”

“Dare?”

“McKay!”

Rodney studied John for a long moment, so long that John thought he might suffocate right there in the hallway from holding his breath.

“Stupid flyboy,” Rodney said finally, and then he was kissing John. Very thoroughly.

John was pretty sure his brain short-circuited, but luckily kissing Rodney back required zero thought. When Rodney finally pulled back, John was panting and flushed with arousal and more than a little dazed. 

“Get back to work!” Rodney snapped.

John blinked at him, trying to parse what the meant, and then he realized they’d drawn a crowd of people who were watching from one of the open lab doors. They all scurried away at Rodney’s words, but John caught a couple of smirks and was fairly sure he saw money changing hands.

“Is this because of what happened?” Rodney asked. “Because I’m not interested in a pity fuck, not even with you.”

“It’s not.”

“Good. Let’s go. I’ve waited long enough for you to make a move.”

John let himself be dragged to the nearest transporter, what was sure to be a stupid grin on his face. It was too soon to say it to Rodney, but he couldn’t help the thought when it popped into his head: he was going to have his cake and eat it too.

**Author's Note:**

> **AN:** So, I was talking with nagi_schwarz the other day, and the phrase ‘cake or death’ came up. The IT guy at First Job says that a lot, but I didn’t have context for it until nagi_schwarz shared [this YouTube clip](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rZVjKlBCvhg) with me. I watched it right before I went to bed, and my sleepy brain concocted this fic.


End file.
